Every summer at my church, it seems a handful of babies are born or about to be born. With 160 members and 90 children, you would think that there is something in the water or maybe the coffee we serve during fellowship hour. It is not unusual to hear the noises of babies and wandering toddlers during worship. Ever since I’ve been at my church, I have been a part of the pregnant pack. One summer, my sister, my sister-in-law, and I were all pregnant and gave birth one month after the other.

For some reason, this summer, I realize that part of my life is over. My kids are getting older. In some ways, life as a pastor/mother is getting easier. No more do I have to preach while carrying my baby in a sling. No more do I have to pack five bags of stuff just to go to church. No more do I have to wonder if that baby crying is my baby or someone else’s. And while not having another baby is completely my own decision, there is a part of me that is very aware of this transition. Maybe it’s nostalgia with a hint of sadness.

I knew that time would be fleeting and in the moment, time didn’t pass fast enough. Now as I look at my 7 year old young man and 4 year old dragon fairy, I hope time doesn’t rush by too quickly.